Make-Up Monsters
Something so insignificant as a
cotton ball can instill fear. It’s called Sidonglobophobia. Silly, right?
My brother is afraid of cotton
balls. It’s the texture he says, it’s the feel. If I touch him with one he
yelps and scurries off. This is new to me. My stepmom acts like it’s been going
on forever.
We used to call him Q-tip on
account of his white hair, but he says, I’m not afraid of Q-tips. Yeah, yeah.
We all choose our problems.
777
I watch my brother, Alex, file
down the off-white hallway to be married off with his diploma, apathy is
written all over me. I can’t wait until this is over. Too many women here. I
see angel wings sprouting from his back. I remind myself to tell him that he
isn’t free and none of us will ever know what free is. Keep dreaming.
Seriously. And while I’m thinking this exact thought, something I’ve been
waiting for, it just happens. Light-headedness ensues. Slow-mo. Stop the tape.
Rewind. I want to watch it again.
777
Billy picked on me since 8th
grade. When he moved to Cincinnati from L.A. everyone swooned over his
shininess. I didn’t care. I cared about what I’ve always cared about: writing.
Hiding away in my head. Bent over in class, scribbling away, a heroine story
underway. He had tried at first with friendly conversation of course.
“Hi, how are you? My name is
Billy. I’m from L.A.” He looks down at the ground, adding in, “It’s not that
cool.”
I’d blow him off. “Yeah, I’m
Lizzie. Gotta go. Bye.”
A couple of girls would crowd him
at his locker and he’d stare me down as I walked by. Billy was clean-cut, tall,
a real looker. I could tell he hated it, but I’d ignore him. I dated football
players and stoners and through the years he started calling me “Lizzie
Borden”. The old maid who murdered her parents. She bludgeoned her dad on the
first floor and axed her mother in bed.
Both of my parents are dead. One
died in a plane crash during a storm. The other in a flood. My stepmoms take
care of me and my brother even though I’m 23. They’ve become friends over the
years. Way too much estrogen in my life.
My fear is dying in a freak
accident or natural disaster. George says this is an irrational fear. That it’s
more likely I’d die from heart disease and/or cancer. I tell him I’ve got that
covered. I’m vegan.
George is my buddy Sheila’s dad.
The degrees he got in psychology are not posted in Iris Book Café. He
assures me he has them.
The lighting is low and I’m
contemplating purchasing a book called Doktor Snake’s Voodoo Spellbook.
“Lizzie, are you still being OCD
about emergency plans?”
“Um...” I scuffle my feet around
under the table. George is a distinguished older man with a not-so-hot wife. He
wears dress shirts and jeans and he has a just right tan from traveling on his
boat. I’m always thinking he wants to bone me. He probably sees me as a child.
“A little OCD, just a tad.” Pizza
would hit the spot right now. The spot being my belly in this case.
“Betty tells me you’ve been really
withdrawn, too.”
“Being ready for all imaginable
catastrophes takes planning, George. It takes concentration.” Tsunami: find
higher ground. Hurricane and tornado: ditch or basement.
“How long do you think your
stepmother should take care of you?”
“Forever,” I say meekly. He knows
having a job gives me high-anxiety. I change the subject. I talk about my
little brother growing up, the new book I’ve started and my stepmoms being best
friends weirding me out. They do everything together. Especially girly stuff.
Checking my phone discreetly I realize it’s almost 6.
“George, I gotta go. Flash mob at
6. I get up, go to the counter and then throw some cash down for the voodoo
book.
“Next week, Lizzie. Same time,
same place. I told Betty not to worry. Now have fun and try to relax. We’ll
work on finding you a job next time.” I cringe.
“Thanks. See ya.”
777
The news comes on at
6. I wasn’t going to any freaking flash mob. I mean kudos to them. Just not me.
It’s a step in the right direction for people hanging out without being
connected to technology though. It means a lot to Betty and Veronica, my
stepmoms that I assimilate. Quit laughing. They bonded over those names. But I
can’t do it. I don’t have many friends because no one’s paying attention. If
they aren’t on F@#$book then they are still on their phone, laptop, or watching
tv. What are they diverting their minds away from? Forget the individual. We’re
cattle, we’re sheep, we’re zombies. Here come the barcode tats.
Straight to my basement I went to lie
in a beanbag chair surrounded by water jugs and flare guns.
I flip on the tv to watch the
news, turning to the very thing that is the source of my distress.
George doesn’t understand.
Something’s happening. Everyone’s too wrapped up in apps, video games and
Netfli# to see. They’re too in love with money, violence, and sex. Women
obsessed with looking young, intent on turning back the clock. They might turn
it back too far.
I watch more tv but it’s boring
stuff. Shootings, store openings, holiday shit. I play music with the tv on
(nine inch nails-“The Perfect Drug”)
%Breaking News%
“Bob, we’re here at Orchard
Lane...” I turn the music down and lean forward. “We’ve been here before
Over-the-Rhine, Bob. The shootings, the robberies, the riots. I’m disturbed,
Bob...” She puts her head down, holding back tears, collecting herself. “A
mother of three murdered her three children.” I turn the tv off and go
upstairs.
In a world filled with
distraction, I brush my teeth, wash my face, put on moisturizer, and coconut
oil for my skin then I stretch and put “X-Files” on my laptop. I leave it as my
lullyby while I curl up in bed.
Reality turns into a netherworld
where the dead walk the earth. My parents are naked and rotting.
“We’re so hungry dear,” my mom
says. Alex runs out. I yell for him to watch out, but he hugs dad and dad takes
a big chunk of his shoulder. Mom starts going for me and I’m just running and
running. I run into Billy. I think he’s a zombie. He’s not. We run and run. We
never get tired.
My phone incessantly buzzes beside
me and I try to ignore it for as long as I can until I’m awake and it’s just
pissing me off.
“Hello?” It’s Billy.
“Hey, it’s 1pm. Wake up.”
“Ugh.”
“C’mon. No, really, I heard about
Kid Eater. I want to see the aftermath. Take some pictures, ya know.” I get up
because this could be interesting and if it’s not I’ll just tag the Newport
Bridge on the way back. Maybe finally use my beat up skateboard on the
half-pipe over there. We walk in muddy grass and through a forest littered with
discarded food wrappers and empty 40s bottles. We hope to sneak into the site
of carnage this way. My shoes are kinda wet.
“The cops probably didn’t clean up
anything. Probably just took the bodies.”
“Cool.” It’s not a run down house.
We break in through the basement door. There’s blood everywhere. Billy is
kneeling and angling his camera to get the perfect shot. Then I remember it’s
my brother’s graduation today.
“Billy, isn’t your cousin
graduating this year, too?”
“Yeah. You want to meet up there?”
“Sure,” I say. I can’t believe a
woman savagely ate her kids. WTF.
“This is fucking crazy, right?
Lizzie, 3 children under 10 died here, eaten by their matriarch.” I’m silent.
“What’s wrong?” he says.
“I just have a bad feeling about
this.” Right after I say this, we hear a door open. Billy gives me a look. Did
they even catch her? Shit. I hadn’t paid attention. We run into a kid’s room.
Hiding under the bed is all we have time to do. I see feet. Dainty in black
flats. Has she come back to eat the rest of her offspring? My heart is beating
hard while my head says I’m not going to die from A, B, or C. I die from
“other”. Eaten by crazy lady.
Red globs hit the floor. I try not
to breath even though I feel like throwing up. A dirty faced woman puts her
head down, face to face with me.
This is it.
“Whatchya doin’ down dere?” It’s a
drunk homeless person eating cherry pie. She must have wandered in after
stopping at a church serving free food.
My body is tense and still in
shock.
I feel stupid. There’s human being
juice everywhere. Fear is pulsating through every part of me. We got the hell
out of there.
Calming down at Fusian, bestowed
with 2 veggie tofu sushi rolls and miso soup, I stared at the passer-byers. I
got scared shitless. Meaning I’m afraid to lose my life. I’m afraid to die and
yet I find my life to have no value. I want to drink and smoke cigarettes.
I want to forget all my conspiracy
theories and escape plans and just enjoy life. I can’t do it though. This fear
of death is constantly hanging over me.
There was a stretch of new
information about an anti-aging cream. Lawsuits were all over the news and
papers from two people claiming it made them sick. If it was a mom who killed
her kids, I mean, she could have used it.
“Did you have an emergency plan
for creepy homeless women?” Billy said slicing through the silence as if it
were a plastic sheet.
“No,” I smirk, “but the rest are
all in working order.” He laughs.
We finished out lunch talking
about scary movies. When I got home Alex and Betty were gone. Already at
school, I suppose. I sat down and started a new story. About a girl who had no
problems and how boring she was, all she cared about was her looks and she got
really excited about this new face cream because it would make her super
beautiful. Then one day she had a problem. A bloodthirsty creature she became.
Wow. She was so interesting now. She had such a passion for human life now.
Best person I never want to meet, I swear to the god I don’t believe in.
777
I walked into my
ugly old school. Fuck, I need a drink. All the moms, all the dads. All the
moms. Shit. I was getting alarmed. How many women used the cream? The results
were incredible.
Linda the bank
teller at FNB, looked like a damn moldy raisin when I got my first bank account
at fifteen. Now men opened checking accounts just to gawk at her, parked their
cars to go inside instead of using the drive-thru. Getting laid for sure.
It scared the shit
out of me.
Men didn’t notice. I
mean they took notice to all the hot women. They don’t pay attention to shit
until all the chips are down. That’s poker folks. That means we’re all fucking
in.
George was the
guidance counselor here. His chair was empty. Could his not-so-hot wife be
using the cream? Maybe they’re banging on the kitchen table. The casserole
lying untouched beside them.
My brother and his
classmates are lining up outside the gym to get his diploma. I’m trying not to
freak out and run away. Where are my stepmoms? Oh, there they are. Up front.
Video camera in hand. A scream cuts through all chatter and everyone turns
their heads.
I would say the most
horrifying thing to hear is a man scream. I would say the most horrifying thing
to see is a man trying take a video with his phone while a woman bites his hand
off.
It all goes crazy. The gym becomes
a sea of violence. I grab Alex but he shakes me off.
“Lizzie, moms are in there.”
“Alex, they’re gone. C’mon.” We
look at each other one long moment. I know they both used the cream. Maybe he
knew, too. And the same kid who’s afraid of cottonballs he dives into the gym
of people. Bile comes up my esophagus. The girls in his graduating class start
acting weird. I scoop out the keys from my pocket and run out the door.
I find the key for
the extra gym class closet outside. I scramble to get what I need since I don’t
want to be stuck in here. In the back of the closet I find my backpack. Those
monsters will get here...
The door is flung
open. A disheveled blonde hunched over in a blue polo, bares her teeth at me.
There’s already blood around her mouth. I grab the closest object that
resembles a weapon. I throw it past her.
The red dodgeball
hits the pavement, bouncing. It gets her attention for a few moments and gets
her growling. I see a chainsaw next to my feet under some whiffleball bats. In
my hands it’s heavy but with adrenaline coursing through me I rev it up with
ease. I’ve always wanted to do this. Chainsaws weren’t meant to cut down trees.
She growls louder and lunges forward snapping at me. Slobber sprays out from
her mouth. The chainsaw swoops down to swing up and chop her head off. I look
to see if anyone is coming as I put the chainsaw down.
Coast is
clear...damn, no they’re coming.
Our school was built
on a cliff. I take a running start. This is as close as I’m going to get to
free. Hangliding. Time has slowed way down. My chest is so tight. I’m
claustrophobic in the sky. It hurts. Not feeling it. I hear something. I land
horribly in rocky sand. The sound is so close but I don’t know where it’s
coming from.
I’m sobbing. Alex.
WTF. I didn’t have that in my plan (KNOCK OUT BROTHER IN CASE HE DOESN’T
COOPERATE). The sound is almost on me now.
777
I used to run away
from home to practice hangliding to one of my safest places. One day I stupidly
went right before a storm. It was fierce.
And as I lay nestled
in a cubby hole on the side of a cliff I realized someone was standing near my
hidey hole. They got closer and closer. Thunder struck as our faces met causing
us both to shriek.
It was Billy. His
parents had had a huge blow-out. He wanted to get away.
He was crying.
“You can fit in
here,” I had said. That was a year ago.
777
By the time I get to
the hidey hole I know the sound is a helicopter. Is it going to shoot me? It
hovers in the air like a gigantic prehistoric insect waiting to strike its
prey.
Then it crashes into
the rocks. Was there a woman in there?
Billy is already
here.
“My mom killed my
family.” I hold Billy close and we cry.
I think about all
the guns I’ve hidden away. I think about how I’ve prepared for this moment.
About how I pause too much for effect. I look into Billy’s eyes. I see forever.
I see hope.
I whisper to him,
“I’m not ready to be free yet.”
